


Dangerous Pink

by Chandelier_s_Notebook



Series: Dangerous Pink [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fencing Club - Freeform, Gen, Implied blood, Sword Fighting, farmer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29515452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chandelier_s_Notebook/pseuds/Chandelier_s_Notebook
Summary: Every week, young Technoblade and Phil would go to Port to sell their farm stock. In order to give the horses a break, they would stay the night. To amuse themselves, they'd go to the fencing club to watch a few matches. Of course Techno wanted to fight one day.
Relationships: Phil Watson & Technoblade - Relationship
Series: Dangerous Pink [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168250
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Dangerous Pink

There was a boy who lived with his family on a potato farm. On the days he wasn’t at school, he would be out in the fields from daybreak to nightfall. While at school, he was continually punished for inconsequential things. Things he didn’t do.

He was told he was a problem. He was told he was in the wrong. He was told he wouldn’t amount to a productive member of society.

He was told he was dangerous.

With all of that reinforcement, was it a surprise when that’s what he became?

* * *

The boy went with his father to Port every week with their potatoes and/or other stock to sell and distribute. The boy would help his father load the stock from their cart onto the ships. Port was but half an afternoons trip from his farm with the horses. But they always stayed the weekend, to give the horses a reprise and for his father to catch up with friends. On one such trip, they visited the local Fencing Club. It was a nice place.

The nine year old boy was given his first blade, a wooden short sword. He was a natural. To the point that they though he was lying when he said he have never picked up a sword before. He insisted.

They invited him over for their weekly tournament later that night.

The boy’s father adamantly refused. But let him take the sword home.

The next time they were at port, the boy and his father went to watch the tournament.

While during the day the Club was a pristine place. After nightfall it became an organized bloody mess of fighters.

The boy was enraptured.

Instead of dissuading the boy from wanting to ever go back. The experience made him want to go back more. Perhaps one day fight.

The boy was able to practice during the day at the Club. While the boy’s father was there, he never let his son fight during the tournament. But none the less, the boy got better. He upgraded to steel weaponry. The regulars stopped treating him like a new child who didn’t know a thing.

On one trip to Port, the now thirteen year old boy took his pocket money so a blacksmith and got his own steel broadsword and scabbard.

He went to the Club and confidently took on the regulars in a clean duel.

He wasn’t able to attend the tournament for his father was taking the boy with him to make a late night shipment.

When he was home, he wouldn’t touch his sword. He was too busy helping out at home. He was too busy keeping up with school work. Despite his reputation, he was one of the best students in his class.

The others started to leave him alone at school. Let him do his own thing.

The morning of his fourteenth birthday, he found that his natural brown hair had been dyed to a bright pink by his brothers in his sleep.

Needless the say, he was not pleased.

School that first week was horrible. But over the next months, he started to own his new hair colour. Started to feel confident in it.

He asked his brothers to re-dye it when the colour started to fade.

One week, right before the boy and his father were to go to Port, the elder fell in the fields. Leaving him unable to drive the cart. So the fourteen year old went to Port alone, as his younger brothers where still not old enough to join him.

Before the boy left. His father sat him down and told him to be safe.

They both knew he wanted to tell him son that in no uncertain terms was he allowed to participate in the tournament at the Club. But they both knew that was not going to happen.

Instead he told him to not let anyone give him shit for his hair.

He skipped out on going to the Club during the day. Instead, after delivering his foodstuff, he wandered around the marketplace. He found a book called _The Art of War_. He bought it, and spent the afternoon by the river; reading.

Later that evening, when the sun had started to set, he put his scabbard over his shoulder and went to the Fencing Club.

He paid no mind to the stares he received.

He went up to one of the managers and asked for a fight.

It was a rush to be in the ring. During the day the Club was very uniform. But during the tournament it was ruthless. They went past the draw of blood. They went until one called mercy. Or until one was unconscious.

The fourteen year old boy with pink hair, who hadn’t held his sword properly in a week, was winning in every match he was placed in.

At first they put him up against the other new competitors for the week. But after two decisive victories, the boy was fighting with a few of the regulars. And winning.

The boy went back the next weekend.

When he returned home, his parents could see that he had changed. His mother had checked him over for scars. And found none that wouldn’t take care of themselves and be gone by week’s end.

He fought again in the next tournament. Winning every round he participated in.

The boy became a regular. His pink hair, that he maintained, making him stand out from the crowd. Easy to notice. Easy to recognize.

Sure, he lost a few times. And his opponent would celebrate hard after a win. But he would always come back strong in his next fight.

Somewhere along the line he obtained a red wool coat from an old clothes shop. It was fitted around his torso, how someone else’s coat fit him so well he’d never know. And it flared out at the base, giving him some needed leg room.

He fought with vigor. He made a name for himself. He rose the ranks.

By seventeen he became one of the household names. Known up and down the river for his skill with a sword.

After the fights, he would ride Brick back to the farm. He wouldn’t touch his sword for the duration of the week. He would help out in the fields. And every time he would bring his families potatoes to the docks and load them onto ships and take gold in return.

The people at Port would always be surprised to see him with his cart of potatoes. They would always forget that he was simple farm boy who sold potatoes.

That there was more to him than a scary swords master. Someone to be scared of.

Somebody dangerous.


End file.
